At Last
by Clockwork-Winchester
Summary: What Regina did, it was supposed to give Emma a new life; a new past and a better future. But what happens when she can't keep a certain pirate's face out of her thoughts?


**A/N: So, after the latest OUAT episode, I had to write something about Hook and Emma. And, since it's my headcannon (and the headcannon of many others, I'm sure) that Emma can still remember some things from her previous life, this is the result. Hope you enjoy. Reviews are always more than welcome ;)**

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At 8:15 precisely, the alarm clock starts blaring and it has the unfortunate result of waking Emma up. For a second she is tempted to hit snooze and go back to sleep, but the moment she closes her eyes, she is assaulted once again by the same image; a pair of blue eyes in a strikingly handsome face, that's looking at her with so much adoration she can't bear it. Her eyes snap open and her hand shoots out, turning off the alarm clock. She gets out of bed in one swift motion and wills her mind to start focusing on the day ahead and not on the increasingly incomprehensible dreams she's been having.

Pausing out of Henry's bedroom on her way to the kitchen, she cracks the door open to find her son with the covers pulled over his head, doing what he must think is a convincing imitation of being sound asleep. If he thinks she's buying it, he's in for a surprise. She knows her son too well for that.

''Come on kid, time to face the day,'' she says.

Henry's only answer is to shift slightly on the mattress, still pretending to be asleep, which causes the top of his head to become visible under the bright blue and grey comforter. He throws in a snore or two for a good measure. Emma rolls her eyes and does her best to stifle her laughter as she announces in a would-be stern voice, ''If you don't get up now, there'll be no cinnamon for you.''

With that threat hanging in the air, she turns around and leaves, smirking when, a few seconds later, she hears the unmistakable sound of covers being thrown aside. She's reached the kitchen counter when her son enters the room, sporting a miraculous case of bedhead.

''Well, well, look who decided he isn't that tired after all,'' she tells him in mock-surprise.

Henry pulls a face at her, before disappearing to the bathroom for several moments. When he emerges, his hair no longer look as if a hurricane burst through it and he seems marginally more awake as he walks over to water the plants placed in front of the window. She looks back from where she's preparing breakfast and smiles as she watches him pour water carefully into each plant. It's one of the few chores she doesn't have to make him do; he seems to really enjoy the whole process and has declared himself the sole caretaker of the plants. Not that Emma has any objections to that. She can freely admit she'd be too lazy to remember to water them every day.

There's only one time that still confuses her. After the first few days when she saw how much care he put in this, she remarked that if he continued in that rate, they'd soon have a jungle in their apartment. She only meant it as a joke, but she found herself quickly regretting it when, instead of laughing, Henry looked at her wide-eyed, an expression that could only be described as fear in his face. ''N-no, no jungles,'' he said hurriedly looking at the room worriedly as if he expected plants to start growing around them out of nowhere. Emma spent the next couple of minutes calming him down and trying to figure out why he had gotten so worked up at the mention of jungles. Henry however, resolutely refused to answer her questions or even to look at her after a while. At some point she thought she heard him whisper something that sounded like 'Neverland', but she must have misheard.

Eventually, realizing she wasn't going to get any answers from Henry, who simply refused to acknowledge that incident, she decided to put it from her mind. Yet there are times like this, when she can't help but flash back to it. Suddenly, her nose registers a weird smell and she hastens to remove a pan from the stove before their breakfast is ruined, all thoughts of jungles and neverlands vanishing from her mind.

The breakfast salvaged, she put the plates on the table for her and Henry, along with two mugs of their favorite coffee. Henry takes one look at it and promptly remarks, ''Mom, you forgot something.''

''Right, cinnamon,'' she says matter-of-factly. Cheeky kid. As if she wouldn't have given it to him, even if he hadn't got up when she called. Emma can't refuse her son anything, not for long. She doesn't know if that makes her a bad mother or not, but then again, she hasn't exactly had any personal experience with what constitutes good parenting. In the end Henry is happy and that's all that matters to her.

She hands him the small box containing the much craved-after cinnamon and sits down at the opposite end of the table. There's music filling the room, a song she's been hearing non-stop for the past week. They toast their mugs and she's barely swallowed one sip when there's a knock on the door. Emma looks up in surprise.

''Someone coming over?'' Henry asks, though he seems more interested in the food in front of him than on the mysterious visitor.

''No,'' she replies, though there's a hint of uncertainty in her voice. In the last year since they had moved to New York, she hadn't made any considerable efforts to form connections with other people, content instead to fill her hours with work and spending time with her son. She knows Henry has several friends at school, yet somehow she doubts any of them would come knocking at eight o'clock in the morning. Just as she's about to disregard it as somebody simply mistaking the doors, they hear another knock, this one louder and more persistent. Emma's eyes widen as she realizes that whoever is at the other end of the door is clearly looking for them.

Rising from the table, she tells Henry to wait there as she hurries over to the door, turning off the music on her way over. A part of her mind is aware that opening the door to strangers is not particularly high on the list of smart things to do, but curiosity has gotten the best of her and she finds to herself turning the handle to reveal…

Well, whatever she was expecting, this isn't it. Which is saying a lot, considering she doesn't even know what she was expecting.

Standing in front of her is a man clad head-to-toe in leather. Not only that, but it seems to be some weird sort of getup. He looks – well, he looks like a pirate, for lack of a better word. Except she had always expected pirates to look more like Captain Hook, the kind with waxed moustaches and perms. And this man, he's anything but.

''Swan,'' she hears him say in a voice full of relief and something else, something she can't identify. His voice has managed to snap her gaze from inspecting his clothing and it now moves upward until she can see his face; and then she stares.

He is handsome, there is no denying that, but that's not the reason she's staring at him. That face, she knows it. How could she not, when she sees it in her dreams almost every night. Dark hair, blue eyes, a sinful mouth… She knows him and at the same time, she doesn't.

''At last,'' he adds and now her attention is drawn to the sound of his voice. She's heard it before, she's sure of it, though for the life of her, she can't say when.

_There's not a day will go by I won't think of you. _

The man moves, as if to come inside the house and that's what finally snaps her back to reality. She puts her hand up to prevent him from coming any closer.

''Whoa, do I know you?'' she asks, because she doesn't, no matter what her – clearly crazy – subconscious thinks and she'll be damned if she lets a stranger come in to her house, where Henry is still eating in the kitchen.

He doesn't move further and that's a relief, but the words that come out of his mouth do nothing to explain this situation.

''Look, I need your help,'' he says, his tone more urgent now. ''Something's happened, something terrible. Your family is in trouble.''

''My family's right here,'' she responds immediately, because what he's saying makes no sense. Yet at this precise moment, there's an image in the back of her mind, of a man and short-haired woman, along with the word _snow_, floating around them like a whisper. _This is ridiculous, _she thinks when, after less than a second, the image has faded away, _what does snow have to do with anything? _''Who are you?'' she asks then, determined to figure out how the man frequenting her dreams has come to stand on her doorstep.

''An old friend,'' he says and again she thinks, _ridiculous. _Is this really the excuse he's going with? ''I know you can't remember me,'' he goes on and she's about to say 'I can' but thankfully the logical part of her brain overpowers the crazy one. _Get a grip, Swan. _In her dreams he may be her prince charming; or whatever the hell seeing him all the time means (most likely that she needs to get laid), but in reality he's a stranger, and a probably crazy one at that. She's so absorbed in her thoughts that she barely hears the end of his sentence. ''But… I can make you,'' he says with slight hesitation.

Hold on. _Make her?_ What is that supposed to mean? She doesn't have time to ponder it any longer however, since the stranger puts one hand on the back of her neck and brings her close to him, so close, until her lips touch his and it's the strangest sensation of all. Her eyes close briefly and she considers giving herself over to the kiss, to the amazing feeling and impossible familiarity of his lips moving together with hers.

_Please, you couldn't handle it. _

Once again, the logical part of her brain kicks in and her eyes fly open, as she realizes what he's doing. Her knee lands in between his legs, the only way she can think of to get him away. It works, since he lets out a groan and she hurriedly pushes him away from her until he's leaning back against the wall.

''What the hell are you doing?'' she asks, feeling a bit out of breath.

''Long-shot. I had to try,'' he says in a pained voice. ''I was hoping you felt as I did.''

His last words are like a bucket of ice water being poured over her and waking her up. _Never mind stranger, this guy's a fucking stalker,_ is the panicked thought her mind supplies her with. The mental ones, who think the object of their obsession is sure to love them.

She tries not to let any panic creep in her tone as she warns him her hands poised to close the door, ''All you're going to feel is the handcuffs when I call the cops.''

He pulls himself off the wall and comes closer, his voice sounding more desperate when he speaks, ''Look, I know this seems crazy, but you have to listen to me. You have to remem-'' The rest of his sentence is cut off when she slams the door to his face.

Emma takes a deep breath, struggling to gather her thoughts when Henry asks, ''Who was that?''

She pauses for half a second. ''No idea. Someone must've left the door open downstairs,'' she says in voice she hopes sounds convincing, before she takes one last glance at the door.

''Come on, let's eat.''


End file.
